


Worth a Thousand

by Star and Shield (Griselda_Banks)



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bromance, BrooklynBros, Gen, White Tree
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-02
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-11-08 08:15:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11077599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Griselda_Banks/pseuds/Star%20and%20Shield
Summary: They say a picture is worth a thousand words. Collection of oneshots inspired by fanart.





	1. Best Friend

**Author's Note:**

> This is a little fanfiction project that just kind of happened without me actually trying, but by now I have enough of these that I have to admit this is bigger than just idle scribbling. This will be a collection of oneshots that are based on fanart. There are some really cool pieces of art out there for the Captain America fandom, and some of them just reach out their little artistic hands and grab my heart and refuse to give it back until I've put it down in words. Some pictures are just, “Oh, cool picture!” But these ones made me want to explore the story before, after, behind, and around every squiggle.
> 
> To keep some sort of theme to these disjointed oneshots, every chapter will be about Steve and/or Bucky, and they all take place in an AU-ish setting where Bucky has become an Avenger. You can see it as a possible (if unlikely from where we currently stand) future after Civil War, or an AU of what would have happened in Bucky had sought Steve out during those two years he was trying to find him. By no means will the chapters be in chronological order, because I'm writing them as the inspiration strikes. This first one would be pretty early on, though.
> 
> Unfortunately, most of the artwork that's inspired me is proving rather difficult to track back to its original artist. If it starts sounding familiar and you think you know who the original artist is, please PM me so I can give credit where credit is due! This one was inspired by a little comic that apparently came from katinca.tumblr.com, who moved her fanart somewhere else and I can't find it T_T
> 
> Feel free to link me to fanart you'd like to see turned into a story! No guarantees that I will write it, though; it has to tickle my fancy enough to give me an idea to work with. I'll certainly give every piece you send me a serious consideration, though.

 

Every morning after Bucky showed up on his doorstep, Steve greeted him, not with a simple “good morning,” but with a hug and a murmur of, “Your name is James Buchanan Barnes and you're my best friend.” He would always make sure to approach him from the front, or to shuffle his feet on the floor and yawn loudly so Bucky would know he was coming. But every morning was the same.

At first, Bucky seemed a little bemused, but he always let Steve hug him anyway. After a while, he seemed to expect this greeting every morning. He would turn to face Steve when he approached, or free up his hands, or at least turn his head slightly when he heard Steve coming, like an animal turning its ears to a new sound. Sometimes, when Steve embraced him from the front, Bucky's hands would clumsily find their way to Steve's back, trying to remember how this strange action worked.

Eventually, he started to respond.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Your name is James Buchanan Barnes and you're my best friend.”

Bucky made a sound that could almost be a laugh. “I know my name now, Steve.”

Steve, who stood behind him with his arms draped loosely over Bucky's shoulders, smiled against Bucky's neck where he could feel it. “Good.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Your name is James Buchanan Barnes and you're my best friend.”

Bucky, trapped against his chest, didn't try to move. “I know.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Your name is James Buchanan Barnes and you're my best friend.”

Steve was hugging him from behind again, but Bucky raised his hand and touched the arm that crossed his chest. He tilted his head to the side, so that it nudged Steve's just slightly.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

~*~*~*~*~*~

One day when Steve woke first, he decided to take a shower before breakfast so he could eat with Bucky. When he emerged from the bathroom, towel still over his head as he rubbed his hair dry, two arms suddenly wrapped around him, one of them cold against his bare back.

A low voice said through the towel and into his ear, “Your name is Steven Grant Rogers and you're my best friend.”

They looked ridiculous—Bucky standing on tiptoe, the towel still draped over Steve's head—but they stood there for a long time.

 


	2. In His Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: This one is based on an absolutely beautiful pencil drawing found on marisdrawings.tumblr.com, which I like to describe as “Steve gazing into Bucky's eyes like he's the whole world”. (Note: Do tread carefully if you check that url out; some of the pictures there are rather explicit.) I don't know if I've ever found a picture that has so quickly and completely captured my heart. Right away, I had to tilt my head to the same angle as Steve's so I could gaze into his perfectly drawn eyes *3*

When he was asleep, Steve looked like a kid again—all worry smoothed away, turning this invincible mountain of muscle into something soft and vulnerable. Bucky leaned over Steve, torn between wanting to watch him sleep so peacefully and needing to wake him up. In the end, he compromised by whispering as quietly as he could, “Steve?”

At first, it looked like Steve was fast asleep, and Bucky was about to give up. It could wait till morning, really. He'd be up all night thinking about it, but he could just talk to him later....

“Bucky? 'Zat you?”

Turning back to Steve's bed, Bucky tried to figure out what to say. His heart was pounding and a lump was lodged in his throat, making it hard to focus. Steve rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, blinked up at him, and sat up as soon as he saw the look on Bucky's face. “Here,” he said, scooting over and pulling back the covers.

Bucky obediently sat down next to him and tucked his legs under the covers. Steve's warmth enveloped him as he gently pushed Bucky down onto the pillow and pulled the blanket up over their shoulders. They had done this far too many times; sometimes Bucky wondered why they didn't just sleep in a double bed to start with. It wasn't like the gossip about them could get much ruder than it already was.

Steve settled down on the other end of the pillow, his face mere inches from Bucky's. “Nightmare?”

Bucky shook his head.

“Flashback?”

He shook his head again.

Steve thought for a moment, then gave him a half-smile. “Random panic attack for no apparent reason at all?”

Bucky shook his head, though he felt a rush of gratitude for Steve making it sound so  _ normal. _ With all the legitimate reasons he had for freaking out, it was downright  _ embarrassing _ when he freaked out with no provocation at all. Steve had dealt with it all before, but for once, this was something different. “I...couldn't sleep,” Bucky said slowly, fumbling through the words. “So I was just thinking...and I figured it out.”

“Figured what out?” Steve gently prompted when Bucky fell silent.

Bucky hesitantly lifted his metal hand and laid it on Steve's cheek. Steve didn't flinch at the cold touch, just waited patiently. “Why you don't leave me,” Bucky finally replied. “No matter how hard it is, how many setbacks...every time I make things harder for you, because of what I've been through, or...or when I just want to give up...you never do. I finally figured out why. It's because you love me.”

It sounded much stupider out loud than it had in his head. _Of_ course _he loves you, idiot! That's kind of what friendship means. It should have been obvious from the beginning, as soon as he threw down that shield._ He couldn't recapture how monumental that epiphany had seemed, as he lay there in the dark, listening to Steve's steady breathing. It had crashed over him like a tsunami, the sudden understanding why someone as amazing as this would invest so much in a broken husk that would never completely heal.

He waited for pain and pity to bleed into Steve's expression, as he realized that Bucky hadn't known any of this until now. It would hurt him, to know that Bucky had so easily assumed he was doing this out of a sense of obligation, or because it was the right thing to do, and not because he cared about Bucky as a person. But after the moment or two it took for Steve to process his words, all the concern smoothed out of his face at once. His whole face softened like when he drifted off to sleep, but his eyes were open, fixed on Bucky. A pure, blissful smile brightened his face, and his eyes sparkled in the dim light from the window.

Steve brushed Bucky's hair back from his face and kept his hand there, rubbing his thumb back and forth along Bucky's temple. “You're right, Buck. I do.”

It was like basking in the sun, looking into those eyes. In those eyes, he was so far away from the cold and the fear that he could almost believe it had never happened. That they were still just two innocent kids giggling under a sheet tent, oblivious to just how ugly this world was. In those warm blue eyes that had never changed...maybe he was the same too. Maybe he was still that boy with a sharp tongue and a crooked smile. Maybe he was still the dashing young man who ditched even the prettiest girls if they didn't like his best friend. Maybe those eyes saw something that wasn't true, something that wasn't there...but he wanted to believe what those eyes saw.

Steve inched closer and whispered conspiratorially, “Guess what, Bucky? I figured something out too. I figured out that you love me back.”

What was happening to his face must have been the same thing that happened to Steve's. He could feel every muscle relaxing into a crooked grin, like golden warmth washing over his skin. It was like remembering how to walk, how to breathe. Like slipping back into his own skin. Was this what Steve had seen all along?

“You're right, Stevie,” he murmured, drawing closer to rest his forehead against his best friend's. “I do."

 


	3. Message

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beautiful photo manip that inspired this can be found at hopeless-geek.tumblr.com. It's based on Devin Mitchell's Veteran Vision Project, which is a series of photo manipulations that contrast veterans' civilian lives with their lives of service. I thought it was the perfect thing to do with these characters, so naturally I had to weigh in with my own thoughts.

“I'm fine,” Steve snapped, shrugging Bucky's hands off and tossing his shield and helmet onto the couch.

“But you're bleeding through,” Bucky protested, once more trying to pull back the torn sleeve of Steve's uniform to get to the huge gash under a hastily-applied bandage.

“I said I'm  _fine!_ ” He yanked his arm away, a movement that had to hurt. Maybe it was the physical pain that broke through first, but his eyes suddenly filled with tears. “I'm fine,” he repeated, covering his face with his hands. “I'm fine, and they're not.”

He sat down, right where he was, just crumpling in on himself. A collapsible Captain America you could stick in your pocket. Bucky knelt beside him and put an arm around his shoulders, mindful of the bandage.

“They're dead,” Steve gasped, clutching his face as if trying to rip it off. “They're gone. Th-They were...screaming...for _help._ And I couldn't....”

Bucky didn't say anything, just gently pried Steve's hands away and draped his arms around Bucky's neck himself. It didn't take long for Steve to respond, gripping him with such strength that Bucky was sure he would have bruises in the morning.

“They were _right there._ I could have saved them. I could have! But I let the terrorists distract me. I...f-failed....”

“Steve, stop it,” Bucky whispered, squeezing his shoulder for emphasis. “You did your best. You did everything you could to save them. No one could ask anything more.”

“But I'm supposed to be _better_ than this,” Steve said, his voice breaking.

“You're not perfect. No one expects you to be.”

“Then what use is this power?” Steve exploded, trying to break free. “What's the _point_ of being so strong if I can't prevent a busload of kids from _blowing up?_ ”

Bucky held him in place, the servos in his arm whining with the effort. “You stopped them from killing anyone else. They've been avoiding justice for months now, but _you_ put a stop to that. I don't think you could have done that if you weren't so strong. Besides,” he added with a heavy sigh, “I couldn't save them either.”

Steve pulled back enough to look him in the eye. “Bucky, I would never.... You were busy fighting their leader....”

“If you're not going to blame me, you _definitely_ shouldn't blame yourself,” Bucky said, wiping Steve's tears away with the edge of his sleeve. “The ones at fault are the ones who put the bomb there in the first place.”

Steve sighed shakily. “Either way, they're still dead. All those parents, waiting for their kids to come home....”

He crumpled again, his face scrunching in anguish as he spat, “I hate myself.”

“Don't say that!” Bucky said, more sharply than he'd intended.

Steve pulled away, ignoring Bucky. “I can't stand being myself anymore,” he said, fresh tears falling from his eyes as he rocked back and forth, hugging himself. “I can't stand being Captain America, who has to _save_ everyone, and if I _don't_ then everyone looks at me wondering what they did _wrong_ to make them not worth a _superhero's_ time!”

Bucky pulled Steve back into his embrace and let him babble on until he wore himself out. Finally, Steve whispered, “I wish I'd never been born.”

Bucky felt the words pushing down on his chest like iron weights, and suddenly he understood how Steve had felt every time _he_ had said that. How many times had Bucky spat out those hateful words after struggling through yet another sleepless night, or after he'd thought someone was going to kill him and he ended up inches away from seriously hurting the people he loved most? He had wished he could avoid the years of pain. All he could think about was the pain he'd endured and how he couldn't stand being someone so damaged. He couldn't bear to know that those memories belonged to him.

He heard the same tone in Steve's voice now, and realized for the first time just what Steve must have felt every time Bucky had said the same thing.

“ _I_ don't wish you'd never been born,” Bucky said quietly. He wasn't good with words—there had been a time when the perfect reply popped into his head like lightning, but seventy years locked away in silence had snatched his quick tongue from him, so he just had to muddle through somehow. “There's a lot of people who would be dead without you. Or worse. Don't say that doesn't have any value.”

Steve stilled in Bucky's arms, then let out a shaky sigh and rested his forehead on Bucky's shoulder. “It has value,” he said, sounding defeated and exhausted. Not bolstered with hope and confidence like Bucky wanted.

“Then that means _you_ have value.”

 

~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Steve and Bucky always got up late the morning after a mission. Steve felt much better this morning than he had last night, though there was still a heaviness in his heart every time he thought about those poor children. Bucky was right, of course—what right did he have to shirk his duties as Captain America, when there were lives to be saved? Even though he had failed those children, even though there had been other failures before them, it was a simple fact that he had saved many more lives. And just because he didn't deserve a second chance, that didn't mean he could just ignore the people who still needed his help. So he wouldn't mope around. He wouldn't do anything stupid. He just needed to work harder next time someone needed his help.

But he couldn't deny how  _ weary _ he felt. He moved slowly as he shampooed his hair, having to consciously tell his body to move properly. He was sick and tired of people looking at him and seeing Captain America—the hero, the one who would magically protect them from all harm. They always seemed to forget that he was only human. There was only so much he could do.

Steve tilted his head back, and let the water rush over his face and fill his ears with its roar. That was the problem in the end. They didn't seem to understand that he had limitations, so they asked for the impossible. And he felt terrible when he couldn't give them the impossible.

With a sigh, he finally shut the water off and started to towel himself dry. Nothing had changed from last night. He'd just acknowledged that he was tired of the whole thing. It wouldn't change the need to keep going, so he would continue as he always had.

He could see through the translucent shower door that Bucky was still at the sink shaving. They always took turns, one of them showering while the other shaved and then switching. He really needed to thank Bucky for the night before. They had sat there for hours, Bucky patiently listening until Steve had talked himself out. He'd made sure Steve was bandaged, calm, and comfortable in bed before seeing to his own injuries or tending to his own aches and exhaustion.

But it wasn't until he stepped out of the shower that he realized Bucky was the best friend anyone could hope to have.

Bucky sat perched on the counter, pulling on his shoes. Steve glanced up at him, then his eyes slid across to a message scrawled in the fogged-up mirror: _I love you Stevie._

They didn't look at each other, just continued getting dressed like normal. But Steve's hands trembled as he pulled on his shirt. With just four words, Bucky had somehow made everything all right. When he looked at Steve, he didn't see Captain America. He didn't see an invincible hero who was supposed to save everyone. He just saw Stevie, the skinny kid from Brooklyn. No...even better. He saw who Steve really was _now._ He saw him, and he didn't think of him as a failure.

Steve hung his towel up, swallowing hard past the enormous lump in his throat. What could he say in the face of such...blind acceptance? _Thank you_ just didn't seem to cut it, somehow.

He turned again and looked at the message, which was starting to run as condensation dripped down the mirror. Bucky still sat on the edge of the counter, just looking at him. As their eyes met, Steve realized that of course, he didn't need to _say_ anything. Bucky already knew.

He crossed the distance and wrapped his arms around Bucky, holding him as tightly as he could. Bucky looped his arms around Steve's waist and settled into the embrace. _Take your time,_ his actions said. _I'm not moving till you're ready._

Water dripped and streaked through the message on the mirror as the steam began to dissipate. The words were gradually obscured, but the message remained the same.

 

 


End file.
